Orpheus
by RagnarokSkurai
Summary: [ChristopherxDavid] When Christopher dies, David knows exactly what he has to do. Death never could stop true love.
1. Not Achilles

You weren't supposed to die.

I know, I know. Everyone dies, all right? I know that. I've seen enough battles to know that death comes to everyone. But not _you_, Christopher. You were supposed to go forty years from now, drunk as a lord, in bed with a girl or two or three. Not now. Not like this. Not before me.

The Vikings insisted on giving you a funeral. Taking care of your body, getting the pyre ready. They want me to set it on fire. A great honor, apparently. They think I deserve it. Do I? Would you want me to do it? April? Jalil? I'm sorry Etain's not here; at least then I'd know who better than me.

Did you know Achilles lit Patroclus' pyre? Athena told me that. She was part of the whole mess, after all. Maybe she was trying to make me feel better, I don't know. She's supposed to be the goddess of wisdom, but all she really knows now is war. It's all any of us know. Not forever though. With any luck, not for much longer at all. Ka Anor is dead, but I'm not done fighting quite yet. I've got a battle or two left in me.

Oh, don't worry. I won't be Achilles for you. I'm not going to fight a war a war for you, spend years in a senseless rage. I don't plan on being so tragic a hero as that. And we both know I'm not so great a soldier as that. No, I won't be Achilles. But I might be Orpheus.

It won't be easy, I know. It never is. And there are a lot of heavens around here, Chris, a lot of hells and underworlds and dark, damp places the dead go. I'll have to look around, see who's guarding you. See who's keeping you from me.

But first, I've got to light the pyre.


	2. Last Boat to Valhalla

I died. I mean, _died_ died. That's a new one, frankly. I've missed out on the real thing a couple of times now, and hey, lemme tell you, its no fun. I remember getting sick. I remember Jalil changing the clothes on my forehead, April doping me up every few hours. I remember you pacing. I remember the second I stopped breathing, how it went all black and white, and then Technicolor, and then I was here.

Weird, huh? All those times I could have kicked off in battle fighting the good fight, dying the good death, going to Valhalla, and I die in _bed_. And I end up here, in Helgardh. Beneath Yggdrasil's third root, near Hvergelmir and Nastrond, beneath Niflheim. This lovely establishment is, of course, run by our dear friend Hel.

It's a weird place, Helheim. Roof made of snakes that drip poison, rivers of blood, nothing to drink but goat piss. Call it a hell for a reason, I guess. On the outskirts is the River Gjoll, which, aside from being dick-shrinkingly cold, is filled with knives. And the only way across the river is a huge-ass bridge guarded by a giant. Giantess? Hard to tell. Still ugly. Still really, really big and dangerous-looking. So you could say I'd pretty much accepted my fate when you showed up.

The instant you stepped into Helheim across that bridge, we all knew. I felt it. Like thunder. Like someone had pumped ambrosia straight into my veins. Like dying all over again, only in reverse. You looked bright, and beautiful, and alive, and even now, dead as I am, numb as I am, I still remember how much I loved you.

Hel came storming out, her bloody little dog Garm after her. Ready to tear you to shreds and add you to our numbers. I didn't know if I wanted that or not. To have you here with me in this place, or to just let you go on living. Romantic tradition insists I let you go on with your life, but hey, we all know I really am that selfish.

I don't know what you said, or did, but it made her afraid. Made her maggoty little eye twitch in her rotten little head. And I'm _all_ for that.

"Christopher!"

Yeah?

"Run!"

Can do.


	3. Beg Pretty

The minute we hit green grass I can't keep my hands off you. To see if you're real, to make sure you aren't going to disappear like so many times before. And I can feel the pulse in your neck and wrists, by your hipbones, a slow and steady beat, all in the places you feel most fragile. Like you really are still Christopher, human boy blood heart. It makes me calm. It makes everything real. It's like switching from black and white to color, or coming up from underwater and breathing again, stepping out from the desert and into an oasis. Relief. Base and pure and overwhelming. It was a lot like kissing you for the first time.

"Christopher." Love you. Missed you. Missed you so much. Couldn't sleep without you drooling all over my pillow and breathing in my ear, hands all over beneath the blankets, that first stale sour kiss in the morning. You always kissed like you were going to steal my soul away along with my breath.

When you were here I swore you drove me crazy. Now I see you kept me sane. Three months without you is a lifetime, Chris. I don't want to do it again. You're supposed to save me. That's what you do. I need you. I need you when I'm broken and bleeding and too stubborn to let anyone help me. I need you when I'm a witch's pawn, when I'm a goddess' General, when I'm just a face in the crowd. I need you when I'm awake, when I'm asleep, in my dreams and wrapped around me when I wake up.

I thought I was in love with Senna because she held me together. I'm in love with you for the opposite reason, because the truth is sometimes I need to fall apart. Everworld David needs space from Old World David. General David needs to get away from mindless soldier David. Ten-year-old David needs to be able to cower under his sheets without seventeen-year-old David yelling at him for being a pussy. You were the only place I could separate myself, let all the pieces of me fall apart and put them back together later, no problem. You were the only one who could _deal_ with all the pieces and still love the fucked-up whole they made.

You always pushed me. You always needed more. You wanted to hang out with me touch me kiss me sleep with me sleep next to me. You needed. I didn't ask to need you back, Christopher. You did that to me. Pushed so close and so fast, clung so tightly to me. You wanted everything and I gave it to you because I had no idea I'd miss it so much when it was gone. When you were gone.

I'm not you, Christopher. I can't drown myself in a bottle. Believe me, I tried. _You_ were my bottle, Chris. My escape. That was you. That was _you_. And I need you to be again.

Please?


	4. Weak

There have been plenty of times in my life I've wanted to die. Even when I was a kid, up in my room, listening to all the noise downstairs. All my stupid suicidal tendencies as a stupid suicidal teenager. Like Everworld helped with that, you know? Sometimes things got so bad death seemed like the easy way out. So it's kind of a mind-fuck to realize that I do want to live. I do want to be here. What changed?

Was it you, David?

I'd like to mention that it wasn't intentional. Falling in love with you, I mean. You know, not eeny meeny miney moe, April David Jalil. Not like that. Once I realized though – I couldn't let it go. I'm pretty damned incapable of that, actually. Yeah. I can admit it. I need attention as much as I need anything else. I knew if I wanted it from you, I'd have to fight for it. Fight to get close to you. Push and push and push. Prove that I was worth it. Not because you value yourself so highly. You're not like that. But you're all about survival, David. You weren't going to let someone hurt you like Senna had. You weren't going to let yourself be weak.

You're a hard guy, David. On a lot of levels. This war… you're done with bullshit. With _people_ being weak. Life used you as her bitch and then handed you over to Fate for sloppy seconds. Your parents hurt you. Donny hurt you. Senna destroyed you. And you thought I would do the same.

Which, all right, fair's fair. I'm not the nicest person you'll ever meet. Or the most responsible, or loveable, or caring, or whatever. Mostly I piss people off. Piss _you_ off. I'm all mouth. Always was. Talking and yelling and joking. But there's two sides to me, David. Two sides to us. Always was. Because that mouth that insulted you so many times used to kiss and suck and lick and slide over every part of you I could reach. I loved to suck you off on my knees underneath the table in the War Room, you fingernails digging crescents into the thick parchment maps, just so I could catch Jalil puzzling over it later. I love to kiss you. You taste like metal and you smell like blood and battle, but underneath you're something dark and warm. Spicy. I love that smell. When you're fucking me, my legs wrapped around your waist and my mouth all over your face; it's all I can smell. I can taste it on my tongue. I want it all over the sheets.

Were we happy? I don't know. It wasn't sunshine and smiles and ever-afters. Wasn't romance. Mostly we fucked. Slept in the same bed afterwards, yeah, maybe. Like I said – two sides. Just as likely to curse me out as kiss me. Just as likely to make me bleed as beat someone up for fucking with me. Is that love, David? 'Cause I'm not gonna say love is easy. It never was, not for me. Not for you either. But you're my other half, David. The half that keeps me grounded and in one place, keeps me in only one bed after crawling out of a bottle or two. Keeps me safe. Keeps me alive. And until now, I never knew you needed me as much as I needed you.

And that is worth living for.


End file.
